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A neighborly state of mind

Greg Eckstrom

Editor

I recall talking with a friend at an Iowa State football game a couple years ago about how small the state of Iowa feels sometimes, which is true. It’s a state with more than 3 million people, and yet often, it feels like a small neighborhood.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. I’m a transplanted Iowan, having been born and raised next door in Nebraska, coming to the state for college at Iowa State when I was 18 and never really leaving. “Nebraska has a smaller population, but I was never running into Warren Buffet at the supermarket perusing the vegetables.”

Since that conversation, I’ve found my opinion take a complete 180-degree turn. Iowans are everywhere, and they’re completely friendly.

I recall being in New York City in a bar in Manhattan when I was in college when, out of nowhere, someone came up and tapped me on the shoulder.

“That’s what I thought! I was just leaving, but it was good to see you!”

That’s Iowa. We’re all neighbors.

When I’m out of the state or out of the country, I always seem to find Iowans…or they always seem to find me. I’m not wearing anything to identify myself as an Iowan, but still, it keeps happening.

When I lived in Nebraska, meeting people from other states, they’d often say, “Oh, I know someone from Nebraska…” and offer up their name. I’d joke with them, “No, I don’t know them. It’s a pretty big state. I don’t often bump into the Nebraska football coach while washing my car or anything.”

Then, I move to Iowa, end up in Boone, and on a flight home from Mexico, my wife and I are sat next to a guy who strikes up a conversation with me. Is he an Iowan? Of course. Do his grandparents live in Boone? Naturally, and I’ve met them before. Is he disarmingly friendly and pleasant? Of course.

“You know, there may be something to this small-Iowa theory,” I thought to myself as our flight attendant gave us our sodas.

“Hey, is that Fred Hoiberg sitting a couple rows in front of us?” my new Iowan friend asked. It was, and he was completely pleasant and a overly-nice person…after all, he’s an Iowan.

It has happened to me so many times now, it’s almost laughable…and others share the same type of stories. Last week, someone told me about how Gov. Terry Branstad would rent tools from their business here in town. Another about how they were traveling overseas and ended up by chance eating lunch with an Iowan. And then, every four years, presidential candidates become temporary Iowans and make themselves accessible to our neighborly state. At one such event, our group publisher attended a small event at a restaurant in Boone with a candidate running for our nation’s highest office and was shocked when the campaign manager asked us if we wanted to talk to him for a while.

“Where I’m from, we wouldn’t be able to 200 feet from these people,” he said.

Welcome to Iowa.

Since moving here, I’ve found that this state is almost like a neighborhood. The stories I keep racking up as evidence to this have made that theory my friend was expounding upon at that Cyclone football game even more logical. In this state, everyone is a neighbor.

A couple weeks ago, my wife and I wanted to purchase a canoe, and found one on Craigslist that fit our needs perfectly. We drove to the address in Ames, pulled in the driveway and talked to the overly-friendly Iowa couple that owned it, eventually purchasing it.

When we got back in the car, I immediately asked my wife the name on the registration.